


The Freckles in Our Eyes

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic schmoop, Fluff, M/M, Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2017-12-03 06:29:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of vignettes around Dwalin and Ori's bonding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title borrowed from The Postal Service/Iron & Wine's "Such Great Heights."
> 
> This is based in the same 'verse as everything else so far. To that end, "Scholarly Pursuits" is essentially the prequel, but not reading it won't affect your enjoyment!

It was a quiet night in Erebor not three months since the Battle of Five Armies, and Ori and Dwalin were doing their best to enjoy the temporary reprieve from the insanity of restoring Erebor. They curled close to the fire in their sitting room, Ori knitting up an enormous jumper for Dwalin, Dwalin with a lapboard and Ori’s treasured copy of _The Founding of Erebor_. It was, therefore, rather apropos of nothing that Dwalin looked up, smiling at Ori.

 

“Yes, dear,” Ori said absently, switching needles and then counting rows, lips moving soundlessly. He was an excellent scholar, but absolute pants at math, and Dwalin waited until Ori finished counting before speaking.

 

“We really should talk to Thorin about finding time for the ceremony soon,” Dwalin said, and Ori’s forehead creased.

 

“Ceremony?” He looked up at the ceiling, down to the fire, and then over to his knitting, as if the answer was written on a surface just out of sight. “What ceremony?”

 

Dwalin frowned. “Our bonding ceremony. I thought it was obvious.”

 

Ori dropped his knitting on the floor in shock. “Are you proposing to me?” he nearly shrieked, and Dwalin decided that he was no longer allowed around Bilbo, as the hobbit was clearly a bad influence.

 

“Yes?” Ori went pale, raising trembling hands to his face to hide behind them, and Dwalin panicked more than a little. “Ori? Are you… are you well?” He couldn’t ask the real question, _is this not what you want? Am I wrong?_ He swept the lapboard to the side and reached out, then pulled his hand back, torn with indecision and drenched in fear.

 

Ori abruptly threw himself at Dwalin, crawling agilely into Dwalin’s lap and tucking his face into the join between Dwalin’s neck and shoulder. His whole body shuddered against Dwalin, and Dwalin immediately wrapped his arms around Ori, who made a choked-off noise in response but began to relax.

 

There they sat, a moment stretching to eternity between them, until Ori moved his arms around Dwalin’s great barrel chest, sniffling and shifting his head enough to speak. “Of course, you enormous idiot,” he said, voice thick, and Dwalin blew out a great sigh of relief. Ori sat up, enough to reveal his face, blotchy with emotion, and poked a finger into Dwalin’s sternum. “But if you ever,” a harder poke, “ _ever_ spring something on me like that again, your body will never be found.” He glowered, and Dwalin obediently nodded, too relieved to laugh at the thought of Ori trying to take him down.

 

“Also, you have to tell Dori and Nori.” Dwalin groaned at that, and Ori laughed, the pitiless imp that he was.


	2. Chapter 2

“I’m not asking for your permission,” Dwalin growled, glaring at Dori and Nori, who were determinedly matching him stare-for-stare. “The only permission I needed was Ori’s. I’m asking for your blessing, but this will happen whether or not you give it.”

 

“Forgive us for not being overjoyed that our youngest brother wants to married a jumped-up palace guard,” Dori replied with a haughty sniff. Nori merely flicked a tiny knife between his fingers, occasionally staring at Dwalin’s neck pointedly.

 

“At least I will never struggle to support him,” Dwalin shot back, and immediately regretted it. A muscle jumped in Dori’s jaw, and Nori’s knife-flipping stopped, both clearly astounded. Dwalin exhaled heavily and closed his eyes. Many of the company’s lives pre-Erebor were still touchy subjects, and Dori and Nori both hated mention of their previous struggles. “Perhaps I have overstepped my boundaries,” he admitted.

 

“Damn straight you have,” snapped Nori, and Dwalin opened his eyes, but Dori placed a hand on Nori’s shoulders. The older of the two was staring at Dwalin evaluatively, eyes narrowed.

 

“You’re really serious about this,” Dori stated, and Nori turned to look at him, mouth agape.

 

“Yes,” Dwalin said. “He’s the only reason I’m standing here asking for your blessing. It means much to him.” His implied _I couldn’t give less of a shit_ also floated across the room.

 

Dori continued to stare before finally giving a curt nod. “Fine. You have my blessing. Nori?”

 

Nori nodded jerkily, but as he followed his brother out of the room, he leaned into Dwalin’s space and whispered “if you ever hurt him I’ll cut your balls off myself.”

 

Well… it could’ve gone worse.


	3. Chapter 3

Dwalin’s next stop was Thorin. That, at least, would be simpler, although he wasn’t completely sure of the reaction he’d get. He figured it was a toss-up between being punched and hugged.

 

Thorin was in one of the old council chambers, bent over a map, listening to reports by miners. Luckily the damage done by the dragon had been mostly superficial, but many of the mine shafts had suffered from inattention. Dwalin coughed, and Thorin’s eyes flicked up at him before he dismissed the miner with a wave and new orders.

 

“It has been many days since I’ve seen you,” Thorin said, reaching out to clasp at Dwalin’s arm. “What brings you here?”

 

“Can I not say hello to an old friend? Or must I bow to a king?” Dwalin replied, irritated, and Thorin gave him one of the many and precise Looks of Disapproval, one that was normally saved for hungover mornings and unfortunate recollections of shenanigans.

 

“You’re just as busy as I, no matter how you deny it, so it must be a great business to bring you to me.” Thorin crossed his arms, leaning a hip against the table, and waited.

 

“Ori and I are to be bonded,” said Dwalin, and Thorin crowed, striding across the room to punch Dwalin in the arm before pulling him into a hug.

 

“Bofur owes me fifty gold coins,” Thorin said gleefully when they parted. “He bet me you two wouldn’t bother until more than a year after reclaiming the city.”

 

“I’m always glad to help you make more money,” grumped Dwalin, feeling more than a bit put out that his life-altering news was notable only for bets.

 

Thorin’s face softened, and he clapped a hand back on Dwalin’s shoulder. “I am very happy for you, my friend,” he said softly. “We all assumed it was only a matter of time—you two make quite the couple.” Dwalin thought of his scholar and smiled, and Thorin gripped his shoulder tighter. “There—you see! Just as that.” Thankfully, he dropped the topic before Dwalin became too embarrassed. “So you’ll want a good day, and a hall, and perhaps some guests for your ceremony. I will need some time to sort out the details. I would suggest speaking with Bilbo but I suspect that Ori has beaten you to that. This time of day, they’ll be out on the main terrace, if you wish to speak with them.” It was a dismissal, no matter how kindly phrased, and Dwalin left with a reminder to himself that kings were busy people, and could only spare so much even for old friends.


	4. Chapter 4

Bilbo and Ori were indeed knee-deep in conspiracy and Dwalin left them to it. As long as he was bonded to Ori by the end of the ceremony, not much else mattered to him, and they were far more than excited to do all of the planning.

 

A month and a half after the proposal, Dwalin had mostly forgotten about organizing the ceremony,  but apparently not everyone in the mountain had the same relaxed attitude as he.

 

“I’m the oldest, and it’s my right as his kin!” Dori shouted, hands on hips, surrounded by Nori, Fili, and Kili in the middle of one of the main hallways.

 

“We’re his friends, we have rights too!” Kili answered hotly.

 

“And you all bloody well have the right to argue somewhere else,” Dwalin growled, having just happened upon them in his way back to his rooms for the night. “Beat it, or I’ll beat you until you learn your lesson.”

 

But Fili was undaunted, turning and smiling winsomely at Dwalin. “Dwalin! We’re just having a slight discussion over the issue of witnesses for your bonding.”

 

Dwalin was hardly in the mood for the heirs’ rabble-rousing; three of his perimeter guards had been killed in an orc raid not two hours earlier. “The witnesses will be as we choose, and you will accept it, and stop this foolishness,” he said, shoving past, suddenly furious at the stupidity of those who would squabble over bonding ceremonies when good dwarves under his care were still dying.

 

He was still in a towering rage when he reached his rooms, slamming through the door and throwing himself down onto the lounge with a huff. He picked up _The Founding of Erebor_ in an attempt to distract himself, ignoring Ori, who was at the desk focused on his own work. The runes danced before his eyes, taunting him with the faces of his dwarves that had died that day, dwarves he had sworn to protect as they protected Erebor. After twenty painful minutes of trying to read, he was still so high-strung that he nearly threw the book at the wall when two gentle hands landed on his shoulders.

 

Ori ran his hands up Dwalin’s neck then stroked down to the ends of his shoulders and back up, soothing the tense muscles beneath. Dwalin gently placed the book off to his left, resting his hands in his lap, fists clenched. Many long minutes passed, Ori eventually sliding his hands all the way down Dwalin’s arms to cradle fists in his hands, chin resting on Dwalin’s right shoulder.

 

“The happiness we strive for is neither balanced out nor ruined by the sadness we experience,” Ori said quietly, squeezing Dwalin’s hands in his own. “Life provides us both with an even hand, and we must deal with it as we will. Celebrate those you have known, curse at the circumstances of their passing, but do not curtail your own life in their memory, for that is certainly not their wish.” Dwalin turned his head to rest his face cheek-to-cheek with Ori’s, closing his eyes and reveling in the reminder that he is not alone, not anymore. 


	5. Chapter 5

Dwalin was in the command center for the guard, carefully recording the recent changes in the far patrol rota. There was a knock at the door and a dwarfling slipped in. “Message,” she piped, and Dwalin looked up, nodding. “M’lords Bilbo and Ori are in the kitchens and ask for your presence, m’lord Dwalin.”

 

“I’ll be along,” Dwalin said, and she slipped out, leaving him to finish his notes before rising. The kitchen was no small hike from the guard post, but Dwalin enjoyed stretching his legs and watching the bustle of the city.

 

He pushed open one of the enormous doors to the main kitchens and was hit with a wall of humidity, good smells, and noise. One of the cooks spied him and nodded towards the back of the kitchen, unable to point due to being elbow deep in what looked like dough. Dwalin nodded back in thanks and forged towards the rear of the kitchen, dodging cooks nimbly, and zeroed in on the sudden sound of Ori’s laugh. Dwalin found the source, and Bilbo as well, nestled at a corner table coated in a staggering variety of foods, none of them green.

 

“Dwalin!” Ori cried, jumping to his feet to tug out the last chair from the table. “Here, sit! Bilbo and I have been cooking.” He was flushed from the heat of the kitchen, hair in disarray and spotted with flour, eyes sparkling, and Dwalin fought the urge to take him on the table, just there. He sat, instead, and Ori fluttered back to his chair.

 

“We’re picking out food for the feast,” Bilbo said, smiling at their exchange, and Ori blustered and quivered, overcome with excitement.

 

What followed was an exceedingly enjoyable—and entirely excessive—lunch. Bilbo and Ori both chattered happily, explaining food choices and origins, and Dwalin let the conversation wash over him as he savored the food and the company.

 

The food was all sampled, only crumbs left on the plates of the favorite choices. Dwalin was drifting pleasantly, not thinking of anything in particular, when he was jerked back to reality.

 

“Dwalin?” Ori was staring at him, brow furrowed and lip pouting slightly, and Dwalin realized that Ori had probably repeated his name more than once.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Are…you okay?” Bilbo was politely staring at a wall, pretending deafness, and Dwalin’s stomach sank at that obvious signal of a third party about to be caught up in a domestic.

 

“Yes, I’m fine. Just a bit…full, from all the food,” Dwalin said lamely, not sure of the appropriate words to soothe Ori without knowing the problem. Ori nodded, still warily eyeing him, and Bilbo leap in, distracting with questions about timing of food courses. Their conversation quickly returned to something normal and natural, but Dwalin was left feeling unsettled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have finally found the end of this fic! Fair warning--the bonding ceremony itself won't be part of this fic, as my headcanon is that it's an intensely private thing for dwarfkind. Someday I may have the nerve to write it, but not for now.


	6. Chapter 6

It was three days after the feast-lunch, and Dwalin was frustrated enough to chew ore to rubble. Ori was avoiding him, rising far too early in the morning and going to bed before Dwalin returned from his duties. As he stomped back to their rooms, Dwalin promised himself it would be resolved tonight, even if it meant—his heart squeezed—that they would not be bonded.

 

He was sorely puzzled by the whole situation. The only conclusion he could come to is that Ori had changed his mind about the bonding. Dwalin realized afterwards that his casual mentioning of becoming bonded had truly caught Ori off-guard. He could imagine no other that could fill his life like Ori, and he thought his partner had known the depth of his devotion, and had shared it.

 

Dwalin’s ruminations were cut short by his arrival at their rooms. He detoured through the washroom, stripping and performing his ablutions perfunctorily. There was no lit candle in the bedroom when he entered, unsurprisingly, and a lump on the left side of the bed signaled Ori’s presence.

 

Dwalin sighed, turning down the covers and slipping onto his side. Ori was curled away from him, clearly faking sleep, back a tense line under the cover. Dwalin scooted closer and tentatively placed his chest to Ori’s back, draping his left arm over Ori’s side.

 

Ori stiffened even more, if that was possible, and Dwalin immediately backed off, heart aching and bile rising in his throat. A tiny, trembling noise escaped Ori, and Dwalin could hold the silence no longer.

 

“Ori,” he said, voice heavy, heartache cracking through it. “My love, talk to me.”

 

Slowly, Ori turned over, eyes wide and glittering, discernible even in the deep dark of the mountain. “Am I?” he whispered, looking more like the lost young dwarfling that stood in Bilbo’s hobbit-hole than the confident warrior-scribe he had become.

 

“Are you what? My Ori?” Dwalin reached out with his left hand, almost dispassionately watching it tremble, wondering if he had any right to call Ori his any longer. His hand gently brushed Ori’s cheek, and Ori’s eyes closed, mouth falling open, throat working soundlessly.

 

“Your…love,” Ori finally managed, hunching further into himself, and Dwalin’s heart shattered. What had gone so wrong, in just three days? The only dwarf he could ever wish to spend his life with, unsure of his love. So scared of asking him, of his reaction, that he suffered in silence for long hours rather than risk some nebulous fury. Dwalin was thought of as a heartless warrior, but Ori knew his gentler side, his love for books, and yet somehow still feared him.

 

“Yes,” Dwalin said brokenly, feeling tears pool in his eyes as he withdrew his hand. “I am yours, whether or not you will have me, until I can no longer draw breath, until Grasper and Keeper fall from my hands.” He closed his eyes, howling on the inside, struggling to contain himself long enough to finish this.

 

A small hand, warm and familiar, landed on his chest, and a breath brushed across his face. When Dwalin had finally gathered himself and opened his eyes, he was greeted with the sight of Ori, almost too close to focus on, serious-faced.

 

“Then…have you…reconsidered our bonding?” Ori asked, his hand tensing against Dwalin’s chest.

 

“Never,” Dwalin said instantly. “To…to finish my life without you is the worst future that I can see. I would relinquish Erebor to keep you.”

 

“Then why did the food choices displease you so?” Ori practically wailed, and Dwalin gaped, taken completely off-guard.

 

“What?” Dwalin asked, baffled, and Ori pouted at him, apparently equally as mystified by Dwalin’s response.

 

“The lunch, with all the food choices for the bonding feast,” Ori said impatiently. “You were distracted. I didn’t think you liked any of it. And you were hardly paying attention, I thought you were angry with me. Or…reconsidering your proposal. Bilbo was too kind to say anything but he was asking all sorts of questions later.” Ori blushed slightly, Bilbo’s hobbitish questions apparently over the line of dwarvish propriety.

 

“I would never reconsider,” Dwalin said fiercely, wrapping a hand around Ori’s, holding both close over his heart. “This beats for you, and no other. I enjoyed all of it, but you most of all. I spoke little because I doubt Bilbo wanted to hear about how badly I wished to sit you on that table and take you.”

 

Ori’s fist clenched within Dwalin’s as his eyes searched Dwalin’s face. Dwalin willed him to see the truth, to feel its texture upon his skin like the sultry slide of the darkness. Ori sighed, eyes falling, apparently satisfied, and slid closer to Dwalin, until skin buzzed with the potential of contact.

 

“How could you love a dwarf such as I, so soft and silly? A great warrior such as you should find a strong partner, not a weak young scholar.” Ori’s voice was tiny, echoing strangely between their bodies, and Dwalin knew bone-deep that this was the root, the fear that kept Ori silent.

 

“I love you because you are brave without weapons. I love you because you accept me as everything that I am without a single doubt. I love you because my heart had felt nothing but anger after Erebor, until my eyes fell upon you, and then I knew peace.” Dwalin released Ori’s hand and reached out, tipping Ori’s face up until their eyes could meet. He leaned forward, pressing a brief kiss to Ori’s lips. Even softer, he continued, “I love you for the look upon your face when you come for me.”

 

Ori pushed against Dwalin, the delicious warmth of contact shocking into place all down their bodies, and kissed him desperately. Dwalin cradled Ori close, giddy with relief, relaxing the kiss down into a languid slide. Ori broke away, panting, and rested his forehead against Dwalin’s.

 

“I love you too, terribly so,” Ori admitted quietly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, anymore. I want—I want nothing more than to grow old with you, here in Erebor. With the days passing under our eyes, however we spend our lives, as long as we spend them together.”

 

Dwalin grasped at Ori, pressing their bodies tight, greedy for the heat and reassurance of Ori against him. They fell asleep that way, exhausted from emotion, and bound all the tighter for it.


	7. Chapter 7

By hour three of the feast, Dwalin had run the gamut of emotions—battle-nervous, joyful and content, and now more than a bit restless. Ori was perched next to him, pressed up tight against his side, a streak of heat from ankles to shoulders.

 

It wasn’t nearly enough.

 

Ori was gesturing along with a story, face alight, as the entire table leaned towards him in rapt attention. Dwalin couldn’t even begin to guess the story, too caught up in the shine and flex of Ori’s lips, the graceful stroking of his hands. _My husband_ , he thought, the words still shocking through his bones. _Mine, always_.

 

A wide, sharp stabbing motion from Ori let the light catch on the elaborate cuff on Ori’s left wrist. Dwalin let himself feel a glow of jealousy and possessiveness at the sight of the jewelry. He was ready to peel the metal off Ori’s skin and taste the marks it left behind on his wrist, their names embossed on the inside to imprint on skin.

 

His own wedding jewelry was a new set of knuckle-dusters, mithril forged, and a set of four heavy rings for more formal occasions. Dwalin was wearing the rings now, his hands feeling light and unrestrained without their usual weapons.

 

A burst of laughter around the table dragged Dwalin back to the present. Ori had finished his story, leaning back and into Dwalin with a pleased smile. Dwalin raised his arm and slung it about Ori’s shoulders, pulling his husband—Dwalin once again felt the wash of possessiveness—flush against him.

 

Someone began stomping, out in the hall, and Dwalin’s heart jumped before he sternly settled himself. Like every time before, the stomping caught on and passed around the hall. Unlike before, it kept growing, until even the main table joined in, wild grins suffusing every face. Ori glanced at Dwalin, face gone completely red, and Dwalin let the traditional racket continue before nodding slightly. Ori fumbled for his hand, gripping tight, and stood abruptly, dragging Dwalin up with him.

 

The stomping switched to clapping, with the occasional inappropriate suggestion shouted in a variety of languages. Ori somehow glowed an even brighter red, and Dwalin gently tugged him into a shallow bow. They escaped the halls as gracefully as possible, escorted out by the well-wishes of the guests, the cooler air in the outer halls a welcome touch.

 

They were less than halfway to their rooms when Dwalin’s restraint let loose and he pressed Ori up against a wall, nipping fiercy at Ori’s lips. When they parted, Ori pushed, snatching Dwalin’s arm and dragging him speedily down the hall. Not ten feet from their door, Ori’s composure failed in turn, and he backed Dwalin into a pillar.

 

They eventually tumbled into their rooms, laughing, when a scandalized passing dwarf scolded them. _My husband_ , Dwalin thought with a ring of finality, a glow of satisfaction finally suffusing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the ending doesn't seem too lame :x


End file.
